


here for you

by silversonata



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coffee date, Fluff, M/M, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 12:24:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3768343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silversonata/pseuds/silversonata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uncharacteristically, Amon wavers, croaks, “Do you want to get a coffee…sometime?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	here for you

**Author's Note:**

> written for an anon who suggested the prompt on my tumblr. i hope you like it ;A; not as smooth as i'd like but meh
> 
> unedited, i apologize for the mistakes, whoops

“Hide," Kaneki quips, steady, languid, his cell phone pressed to the swell of his cheek, “Do you have the frames for the storyboard ready?”

Nimble fingers sift seamlessly through a meager pile of documents, fingers flitting between marked, and checked reports, his gaze occasionally straying to numbers on his wristwatch. “Don’t forget the deadline is next Monday. Please _, please_ get them done on time.”

Momentarily distracted by Hide’s indignant cries, Kaneki hums, light, melodious, “Yeah, yeah, I know you never miss a deadline, but it _is_ my job to remind you. Besides, Akira is on _my_ case to make sure I’m on _your_ case.” Merciless, he teases, “So, no, you can’t go out with that really cute girl you met at the mixer last week.”

Dimly attune to another presence in the office, Kaneki casually adjusts his speaker, and tactlessly presumes Touka has returned from her lunch break, and offers a casual, graceless sweep of his hand. “Yomo’s responsible for the 3D action sequences of Ishida’s latest series, can you check the status on that–?”

“Ah, is this a bad time?”

Documents spill and tumble from Kaneki’s slack grip, the thin, flimsy sheets scattered and strewn on the hardwood floor.

Candid, vulgar, Kaneki breathes, “Sh-shit!” Sparing his dignity further gruff expletives, Kaneki clasps the phone to the lean plane of his chest, and instinctively reaches for the papers, misses, fumbles. The studio’s chief production assistant, Amon Koutarou, effortlessly handles and retrieves the documents with meticulous care, deft and swift.

Rosy hues along his pinched features, Kaneki briefly addresses Hide’s echoing concerns, “I’ll call you back, okay.” He tucks the phone into the recesses of his jean pocket, skittish, nerves jumbled. “I’m terribly sorry, sir. I didn’t mean any disrespect, and –“

Amon presents him the papers in a neat, orderly stack.

“Um, thank you.” Kaneki mumbles, idly sliding the documents in a manila envelope, his teeth worried into the dry, tender fold of his bottom lip.

“No, no,” Amon dismisses his apology, his palm splayed on the nape of his neck, fingers beneath the jut of his collar, “Forgive me. This was entirely unexpected, after all. I didn’t mean to startle you…this is a bad time, isn’t it? I shouldn’t have come. Was this too forward -?”

Kaneki stares, mesmerized by the excessive rambling and persistent excuses – Amon Koutarou is not known for incoherent babbling amongst friends or colleagues. Amon is frank, riveted and lauded for his direct and efficient work ethic.

And he most certainly does not slur and rush through words.

Bemused, his brows creased, Kaneki finds himself curious all the same. Brusque, beyond pleasantries, his tongue curls in wonder, “Why did you come by?”

Uncharacteristically, Amon wavers, _croaks_ , “Do you want to get a coffee…sometime?”

Kaneki splutters.

* * *

Amon’s fairly attractive.

 _No_ , Kaneki muses, lips pursed, _Very attractive_.

He’s tall, a hefty stature, at least another head or two on him, and he’s broad in the breadth of his shoulders, thick in the chest, maybe with corded muscle underneath the layers of his tailored suits. His hair is sleek, pleated, never shaggy or rumpled.

And his eyes are sharp, formal and forthright, and shit, Amon asked _him_ out for coffee.

Kaneki fidgets in his seat, his hands painfully cinched along a napkin, incredulous, addled. Heart lurching in his chest, his insides knotted, and tightly wound, Kaneki tries not to focus on Amon shuffling to their table nestled by the glass window pane, two drinks in his care.

Gnashing his teeth, Kaneki supposes he hasn’t had much time for mingling, _much less dating_ , after getting his job as a production assistant at CCG Animations. He lacks a great amount of experience, and he sure as hell hasn’t pursued his superiors in the long-run of his inconsequential existence.

Gingerly, Kaneki pinches the bridge of his nose, exhales, and contemplates his situation. Which can only be awkward in its entirety. While they do work in the same field, and department, Kaneki hasn’t really engaged in small talk with Amon, just a bit of information, details and facts regarding the projects they helm together.

And Amon’s usually aiding the director, diligent, and steadfast, his presence guiding those around him.

Tentative, the napkin torn in his grasp, Kaneki glimpses the image of cool, stoic beauty that is Amon Koutarou, and _oh, how did he get into this mess?_

Smiling thinly, wanly, Kaneki accepts his espresso macchiato, his fingertips slightly grazing Amon’s wrist, “Thank you.” Promptly, but not hasty, Kaneki presses his lips to the warm rim of his cup, his senses fluttering and relishing in the dark, rich taste.

Amon acknowledges him with a perfunctory nod, and silently sips from his vanilla latte.

The seconds tick, dwindle, and Kaneki dreads the desperate, inevitable attempts at small talk.

“Um, “Kaneki flounders for something, for _anything_ to discuss _,_ the steam from his glass fanning across the stretch of his scrunched face. “We worked on Takozawa’s last series, didn’t we?”

It’s horribly lame of him to dredge a project that was nearly two years old by this point, except Kaneki’s hopeless, and it’s the sole vivid memory he has of actually interacting with Amon.

Strangely, Amon smiles, beckons him softly, “Yes, but we worked on Chiaki’s miniseries before that.”

Kaneki chokes, the scalding liquid burning the buds on his tongue, and the roof of his mouth. “W-we did? Bu-but Chiaki’s series was– that was when I was first getting started!” _Roughly five years ago._

An unusual red stains Amon’s pristine features, his words smooth, and collective anyhow. “Yes, I remember, I’m not too surprised you don’t. You were quite nervous then, yet you managed to you handle it nicely.”

Blushing profusely from the praise and memory, Kaneki flickers his gaze from Amon, and hurries to swallow more of his macchiato, the contents simmering, the foam churning.  “I had no idea.”

And then he remembers every humiliating bit from his novice days and pleads, “Oh my god, I screwed up so much, please, _please_ forget that.”

“There were a few, minor mistakes, _rookie mistakes_ , it was to be expected. It was your first time, wasn’t it? I didn’t do better my first time either, In fact, I think I got you beat.”

Kaneki straightens himself, piqued, “Do tell.”

Regarding him with glinting eyes, Amon attests to his past, unabashed, shoulders lax, loose, “I mixed up the frames for two different broadcasts and the episodes were on the verge of being postponed when they couldn’t be found for a day or two. It turns out I mailed the missing frames to one of the animators, at least an hour drive to get to from the building. And they didn’t find out till the _morning_ of animating.”

“No way.”

Amon sighs, nostalgic, “I was almost fired.”

“How did they not?” Kaneki gasps, devoid of crass.

“I managed to resolve everything on time. It wasn’t without consequences, though.” Amon pauses, rubbing the expanse of his neck – a telltale sign of his embarrassment, Kaneki figures. “I was demoted for four months, put on menial labor, and kept away from the production set. I didn’t even get to see the things in motion.”

Boundaries forgotten, Kaneki doubles over, laughs, genuine, and warm.

* * *

Kaneki snorts, the corners of his eyes prickling with the onslaught of tears, “Man, Akira is ruthless.”

“She’s quite strict, yes.”

“I can’t believe she pulled you by the ear in front of _everybody_.”

“I can still feel the pain to this day.” Amon absently touches his victimized earlobe.

Kaneki stirs his spoon in his glass, snidely remarks, “Remind me to never piss her off.”

Nonchalant, fluid. “That can be arranged.” Amon meets the line of his sight, intent, resilient, his eyes gleaming like hot coals.  

Involuntarily flushing from his head to his toes, Kaneki averts his scrutiny, inspects the surface of his watch, and he sputters, surprised by the hours that have passed. “It’ already evening, wow. Thank you for this, but I’m afraid I have to go. I have a few things to draft up for tomorrow –“

Instantaneous, Amon rises from his seat, remorseful, chiding, “I’m sorry, you should have said you were busy. I wouldn’t have badgered you –“Amon flicks out his hand to help Kaneki to his feet, but he’s quick, clumsy, and knocks his cup over, the remnants of his drink spilt on Kaneki’s pants. “Oh, god.” Frantic, horror etched in the grooves of his eyes, Amon wrestles napkins into his palms, and swipes, and wipes to no avail.

“Wait, Amon –“Kaneki flails, the spoon flinging from his grip, and landing right in the middle of Amon’s suit. “Shit!”

“S-stop. Stop!”

Rigid, visibly perturbed, Amon ceases, and desists, waits.

“Amon…”

Crouching low, curling in, Amon burrows his face into the cradle of his palms, trembles.

Kaneki pays no to mind onlookers, and nudges him gently, “Hey.”

“I’m sorry, _I’m so sorry_.”

‘It’s okay, you didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Amon abruptly shakes his head, “I fucked up. Please forget this. I’ll cover the bill, you can – you can go.”

“Listen, it’s fine.” Kaneki insists, prying the sticky, begotten spoon from the navy fabric, “These pants are old, and I got you, too. We’re kinda even.” Lightly, feathery, he removes the pinpricks of claws in Amon’s mortified face, his flesh ruddy, and crimson.

“I’m sorry, I just, I –“Amon jostles his limbs, stumbles and struggles for coherent sentences – quite unlike the Amon he enjoyed the company of seconds ago. It’s endearing. “I wanted to impress you, Nishio said this would work best, and, god, look at this –“

Flat, firm. “Amon.”

Amon holds his tongue, his ears pricked, attentive.

“I had a really good time.” Low, honeyed, Kaneki tucks wiry strands of his hair behind his ear, the arch of his lashes demure, smoky, “And I would like to go out again, if that’s alright with you.”

Mollified, Amon resists the unsightly urge to gape, to assure himself this is reality, and settles for a husky, “Y-yeah, yeah, I’d like that too.”

Kaneki feels the lines of his mouth perk and twitch into a toothy grin – one that responds to the small, delightful curve of Amon’s own.

It then occurs to them how ridiculous they must seem, and they laugh, earnest, and hearty.

**Author's Note:**

> SOOO AMON’s an actual nervous dweeb but he got advice from his bro nishio on how to act for a first coffee date or something and that was to be suave and cool so he tried but it fell apart at the end, AND like after this date, amon would be his true usual dork self and kaneki would love every bit of it, ayeeee
> 
> aLSO, amon kinda noticed kaneki when he first started and all, but he didn't keep an eye on him. he got more interested as they worked together tho, and finally decided to work u p the nerve to ask him out YEAH


End file.
